My Fairy Godmonster

by Denice Hughes Lewis

  Dad ignores my words. “She is downstairs in tears and says you yelled at her. Is that true?”

  I heave a great sigh. I can’t compete with Daria.

  “I didn’t yell at her,” I say quietly.

  “It doesn’t matter. Daria is a guest in our home.” His voice is like steel.

  “I didn’t yell on purpose. I freaked when I saw she broke the horse Mom gave me.”

  Tears fill my eyes and I blink to hold them back.

  Dad sees the palomino’s broken leg. Pain crosses his face. “I’m really sorry, Winifred.”

  I sag on the bed. “That is the only thing Mom ever gave me.”

  “She gave you more than you know. You look just like her.”

  My insides clench. I have never seen pictures of Mom when she was my age because they burned in a fire. She is beautiful in her wedding pictures, but nothing like me.

  Still mad and hurt, I say, “Daria should have left my things alone.”

  “Accidents happen. Daria is only a child.”

  Boy, does she have him conned.

  “You’re almost a grown woman. Your mother was the gentlest soul I’ve ever

  known. She never yelled and she would have taught you that things don’t matter as much as people.”

  “Thanks for that tidbit of knowledge,” I say. “Why haven’t you ever told me about her?”

  He ignores my question. Typical.

  “I’m sorry she’s not here now. Come downstairs and apologize to our guest,” he orders.

  “I thought we were family.”

  “That’s enough.” Dad stares me down.

  “Okay,” I say. “But I’m staying in the attic until those people leave.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  He walks out of the room. I stare at his back and wondered what happened to my real dad.

  I choke on the lump in my throat. Tears burn my eyes. I glance at the horse’s broken leg. They should shoot me, to make the pain go away. I plod downstairs.

  Dad looks relieved when I come in. I wonder if he feels as bad as I do. Everybody is there except Scott. John is glued to the television. Mr. Dudley talks on his cell phone. David kisses Claire, which makes me sadder than ever. Weasel finishes fixing Daria’s hair and glares at me.

  I feel like a squished ant and walk up to the brat. “I’m sorry I yelled, Daria.”

  She smiles sweetly, victory all over her face. “I accept your apology.” She hugs me and whispers so only I can hear, “Do it again and you’ll really be sorry.”

  I barely control my desire to punch her out. Instead, I turn, red-faced, and walk out of the room. Then race through the kitchen and out the back door.

  My head pounds and my eyes burn like hot coals. I run around the corner and stop. The garden glows in the rays of the setting sun.

  I take a shaky breath and walk to a rocky pond, sinking down on the warm, spongy moss. A tear rolls down my cheek. I swipe it away. I don’t cry. Well, not since I was eight when a soccer ball smacked me between the eyes. It hurt so much tears poured down my face. One of the boys on the other team said, “Girls always cry.” I vowed then not to let anybody ever see me cry.

  “You all right?”

  I hop up, heart slamming into my ribcage. Scott is sitting on a bench under the lilac tree.

  “Go away!” I yell.

  “Sor-ry,” Scott bolts away.

  I run after him. “Wait.” I grab his arm and electricity shoots through me.

  He gets a funny look on his face and yanks away.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s been a crummy day.”

  Scott turns away mumbling, “I know what that’s like.”

  “You don’t have to go. I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

  He hesitates and then says, “I come here everyday when the sun sets.”

  “How come?” I ask.

  I don’t think he’s going to answer me. He looks as sad as I feel. I wait.

  “I-I like what happens to the angel,” he stammers.

  Hmm. Didn’t think he could ever lose his cool.

  I look at the sculpture. The ascending angel stands in a secluded alcove. Her arms are flung back, her radiant face turned to the heavens. Her dress and wings shimmer in shades of red and orange sunlight.

  “I didn’t know boys liked angels.”

  Scott stares at the ground. “She reminds me of my mom.” He chokes up. Throws his words at me. “A stupid drunk driver killed her!”

  I feel awful. I don’t know what to say. To have a mother and lose her seems even worse than not having one at all. “I’m really sorry.”

  He straightens his back, fighting the tears in his eyes.

  I squirm and blurt out, “My mom died when I was born. This is where I come to talk to her.” Why did I say that? To a complete stranger. I haven’t even told my best friend.

  Scott looks into my eyes. I melt inside.

  “That’s awful,” he says. “I can’t imagine not having a mother when I was little. I thought maybe your dad was divorced or something. Your brother didn’t tell us.”

  “David never talks about Mom.”

  “How come?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. It’s like he and Dad have a secret.”

  “It’s hard to talk about,” Scott says.

  “Yeah. Especially with people who haven’t had it happen to them.”

  Scott looks around the garden. “This place is cool. You’re lucky.”

  “How come?” I ask.

  “I live in New York. Too busy, too many people.”

  “There must be lots to do in a big city.”

  Scott shrugs. “I’d rather live here. I’ve always been crazy about horses.” He stops talking and starts walking away. I don’t want to let him go when he looks so down.

  I ask, “What does your dad do?”

  Scott looks at the angel. “He used to be a stockbroker. Since Mom died, he’s taken time off and sits home staring at the walls.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Winifred, Winifred!” Daria’s voice screeches.

  “Quick, hide!” I whisper. I grab his hand and pull him behind the giant rhododendron bush. The pink flowers glisten purple in the sunset.

  “Please, don’t give me away.”

  I hear Daria skipping into the garden. “Winifred, dinner’s here. Come set the table.”

  I hardly breathe. Scott doesn’t let go of my hand. Tiny shivers wiggle up my arm. We don’t move.

  Daria goes back to the house chanting, “You’re going to get in trouble. You’re going to get in trouble.”

  I let my breath out and wish I didn’t have to let go of Scott’s hand. I do. It tingles and feels warm, like he’s still holding it.

  “Thanks for not giving me away. Who does she think she is, ordering me around?”

  “Your dad probably asked her to come get you,” Scott says.

  “Are you defending her?” I try to hold my temper. It’s hard.

  “I’ve seen lots of rich kids act like her.”

  “Where?”

  “In private school.”

  “Oh.”

  Scott glances at me. “Some rich people are actually nice.”

  I can’t stop blushing.

  He adds, “Mrs. Dudley is something else. That voice and those eyes. Like waiting for a bomb to explode.”

  Exactly. I smile up at him. “Do you know the Dudleys?”

  “Naw. Just people like them. They get rich and try to act superior.”

  “Mr. Dudley seems okay,” I say.

  “Yeah.” He’s like my dad – was.”

  “Your dad will get better. Grieving takes time.”

  He stares into my eyes, “But you never get over it, do you?”

  “No, I guess not,” I say. I ignore my traitorous body. Will I ever get used to the flutters in my stomach every time he looks at me? Probably not. Why am I so happy around him?

  “Want to ride Dancer tomorrow?” I ask.
<
br />   He barely smiles. “You mean I get to graduate from manure duty?”

  “That’s never over. Now you can learn how to groom the horse.”

  “Sounds more fun,” he says.

  “Sure, if you don’t mind the smell of sweat. ” I laugh when he makes a face. “Let’s eat. I’m starving. At least Dad ordered pizzas so I don’t have to cook or do dishes their first night here.”

  “Can’t have you washing the dishes,” he teases.

  His smile almost knocks me off my feet. I gotta’ get control. Side by side, we walk into the house. I’m kinda’ getting used to his whistling.

  Chapter 8: Watch Out! Control Freak

  Kong bounds out of the barn and follows us into the house. He smells the pizza and runs into the dining room. A high-pitched screech shatters the air.

  I rush in. Everybody’s there. Daria stands like a terrified statue. Kong licks her, face to face.

  Weasel orders, “Otis, do something! Before he eats our little girl!”

  Mr. Dudley’s deep in conversation on his cell. He takes a second to say, “He’s not hurting her.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” says Dad. “Kong, come.” Kong follows Dad out of the room.

  Daria jumps into her mother’s arms. She sobs and points a finger at me, “It’s her fault. She let him in.”

  Dad returns. “Kong is big, but he won’t hurt a fly, Daria. I’m sorry he scared you.”

  Kong leaps back into the room.

  Daria shrieks and jumps on a chair.

  “I’m sorry,” Dad says grabbing Kong’s collar. “He loves to open doors.”

  “What!” exclaims Weasel. She wipes Daria’s face. “My daughter is afraid of all dogs. She can’t be safe in a house with an animal that can do that. Can you lock him up?”

  Dad frowns. “He sleeps in Winifred’s room.”

  “I understand your love of animals,” says Weasel. “I appreciate the fact that you are allowing Daria’s cat to be here. I’m worried about the consequences if your dog should be in the house. Could you please keep him locked outside until the wedding is over? I would be so grateful.”

  Dad grits his teeth. “Yes, of course.” He goes out to put Kong in the stable. The dog can’t slide open those doors.

  Daria glares at me.

  I turn to the dinner table. Eight giant pizzas are stacked there.

  “I’m not familiar with your kitchen, Winifred,” says Weasel, smiling. “Could you please set the table?”

  “Why set the table to eat pizza?” I ask. “Dad and I usually eat it from the box with our fingers.”

  She stares at me in shock, so I head to the kitchen and grab glasses, plates and silverware.

  Dad comes in and sits down.

  I set the plates in front of Weasel since she is standing in front of the pizza. She places the slices on plates like she’s the Queen of England. Except the Queen probably has servants do it.

  “Winifred. I know we haven’t charted the division of labor, yet. Would you like to serve the pizza?”

  I would have stared her down, but I can’t look into those eyes. Why doesn’t Dad say anything?

  Claire says, “I’ll help.”

  “Winifred is perfectly capable. After all, she is the Mistress-of-the-House.” Weasel’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

  Claire blushes and sits down.

  I look around. Dad stares down at his plate. David grabs Claire’s hand and smiles at her. She barely looks at him. Daria smirks. John winks and Scott makes a face at me that Weasel can’t see. I burst out laughing.

  Weasel lifts her nose an inch, a horrible smile on her face.

  The Mistress-of-the-House serves pizza.

  We eat in silence until Mr. Dudley’s phone rings. “Sorry,” he says, turning it off. “This is an especially busy time for me.”

  Dad asks, “What do you do?”

  “I’m a diamond trader.”

  “Wow, that sounds exciting,” Scott says.

  Mr. Dudley laughs. “It’s like any business. A lot of long hours and hard work if you want to be successful.”

  John asks him, “How do you get into a business like that?”

  Weasel stiffens. I can tell by her face, she doesn’t want her husband to spill the beans.

  Mr. Dudley doesn’t look at his wife and says, “I watched my dad die working the mines of South Africa. I was smart and learned everything I could. Finally, the owner took a liking to me. He had no children, so he adopted me. If he hadn’t made me his heir, I wouldn’t be here today. It’s a tight business.”

  My eyes dart to the engagement ring on Claire’s finger, a single diamond in an antique setting.

  “What do you call the shape of your diamond, Claire?” I ask.

  “Marquis cut.” Claire smiles. “Isn’t it the most beautiful ring you have ever seen?” Her eyes shine in pride.

  John adds, “It’s very unusual. Where did you find it, David?”

  “I wanted a one-of-a-kind ring and found it in an antique shop. It took a lot of persuading to convince the owner to sell it to me. It belonged to her great-grandmother.”

  Claire laughs. “She insisted on meeting me before she would sell it to David. Such a dear woman.”

  Mr. Dudley says, “I tried to give David one of the diamonds in my collection, but he insisted on buying his own. That’s when I knew he was the man for my little girl.”

  Claire blushes.

  Daria adds, “I want your biggest diamond, Daddy.”

  Mr. Dudley laughs. “You’ll get it.” He turns to my dad.

  “What kind of spread do you have here?”

  Dad answers, “Small, only a hundred of thirty acres. Right now, we have eleven horses. We breed, train and sell South American Paso Finos. Winifred teaches lessons.”

  “Only two of you?” asks Mr. Dudley. “The right kind of horses can be big business. How’re you going to keep up with growth?”

  “That’s the question of the moment. We’re looking to buy a stallion and are going to have to expand soon.”

  We’re finished with pizza when Mrs. Dudley says, “I need to discuss the wedding plans with you, Charles. I wanted Claire to marry in Boston. All of our friends are there. It would have been much easier if she had waited until August for the wedding. There is so much to plan and so little time.”

  “I want a small wedding,” murmurs Claire.

  Weasel pays no attention to her. She barges on, “My daughter insisted that she get married here. It is the only time she has ever defied me.”

  Claire looks down at her plate. How did Weasel have a child like her? I’m glad she’s marrying David. She only seems happy when she’s with him.

  Mr. Dudley interrupts his wife, “I don’t think we need to go into that, Erminia. We’re here.”

  Weasel glares at him and yaps on, “I haven’t seen the garden yet, but I’m sure it will be adequate once we fix it.”

  Dad chokes on his Pepsi. David’s face goes white.

  “Let’s discuss this in the living room,” Dad says, getting up.

  “What a marvelous idea.” I cringe when Weasel entwines her arm with Dad’s. “I assume you want to take care of the dishes, Winifred. Come with us, Claire.” They disappear into the living room.

  David stomps after them and says, “I’m planning to be in charge of the garden, Mrs. Dudley.”

  Mr. Dudley says, “Excuse me.” He reaches for his phone.

  Daria whines, “You promised to play with me, Daddy.”

  “You’ll have to wait, Daria. Business comes first.” He leaves the room.

  John says, “I’ll help you with the dishes, Win.”

  “Mommy told Winifred to do it,” says Daria.

  “We can all help,” John replies.

  Daria scowls, “Mommy won’t like it.”

  “Winifred is the Mistress-of-the-House,” says Scott, frowning at her. “Your mom said so.”

  Daria turns on him. “You’ll be sorry.” She runs out of the room
.

  John and Scott clear the table while I start the dishes.

  “How did you meet David?” I ask John.

  “When I transferred to the university, we ended up sharing a house with two other guys.”

  “John is going to be a big-wig lawyer,” announces Scott proudly.

  “Defense lawyers aren’t usually big-wigs, Scott. I have to pass the bar, first.” John smiles.

  “Piece of cake,” says Scott.

  “Do you have plans for college, Win?” John asks.

  “No. I only want to train and raise horses.”

  He frowns. “You still need a college education. This ranch could grow into a large enterprise where it will be necessary to have management and accounting skills.”

  Scott adds, “You’d better decide soon. Unless you have the grades and the money, universities are making it harder to get accepted.”

  “Do you have plans for college?” I ask Scott.

  “One more year of high school and then I’m going to Yale.”

  The last dish slips out of my hand, splashing soapsuds on my face. Yale? I never thought I’d meet anyone who could go there.

  “What will you study?” I ask.

  “Forestry and Environmental Studies. There’s got to be a better way to stop global warming and save endangered species.”

  I finish the dishes, overwhelmed about my future.

  David pokes his head into the kitchen. “John, Scott, can I talk to you?”

  They leave the room.

  I wander out the back door and sit alone on the porch steps. Nervous and depressed.

  Claire comes out the screen door. “Do you mind if I join you, Winifred?”

  Yeah. “No.”

  Kong hears us and howls mournfully.

  “I’m sorry about your dog.”

  “He’ll be okay in the stable. He’s not used to being alone.”

  She sits down beside me. “I’m sorry my mother has been bossing you around.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  Claire says, “Did David tell you I’m adopted?”

  “Lucky for you.” Oops. “Sorry.”

  “Mom can be very demanding. She practically raised her ten siblings by herself. Her family was poor and her alcoholic parents died in a car crash.”

  I don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine raising anything but horses.